


hand in hand through haves and gives

by kimaracretak



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Breathplay, Comfort Sex, Corsetry, F/F, Trust Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 00:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14390187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/pseuds/kimaracretak
Summary: Politics are frustrating, Sabé is not, and relaxing in a corset is ... interesting.(The one where Sabé helps Padmé unwind after a Very Frustrating Party.)





	hand in hand through haves and gives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AceQueenKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/gifts).



> Set sometime between TPM and AoTC after Padmé joins the Senate.
> 
> Title from Oathbreaker, 'Clair Obscur'
> 
> Your Padmé/Sabé prompts were too good not to write something for! I hope you like this treat :)

Padmé is shedding clothes almost before the door locks behind them. Sabé watches gloves, belt, and overdress hit the floor with a fond smile, winces when Padmé hops onto one foot to yank at her boots and nearly topples into a chair.

"Padmé, should I —"

Padmé make a disgruntled noise as the first boot finally goes flying nearly into the window. "It's _fine_."

It's very clear that _nothing_  is fine, but Sabé has seen her friend in enough of these moods over the past few weeks to know that saying so isn't likely to help matters. Instead, she follows Padmé further into the room, retrieving the layers and orangising them into neat familiar piles, keeping an eye on Padmé as she does.

For all her foul mood Padmé is deft with the three hidden clasps of her dress, and soon enough she's standing in a pool of deep blue silk, toying with the floral hem of her slip and biting her lip as she contemplates the bed.

"If —" Sabé starts, setting down the rest of the clothes and reaching out, but before she can finish the thought Padmé yanks the slip over her head with one decisive motion.

" _There_ ," she says triumphantly, shaking out her half-undone hair before collapsing facefirst into the pillows with absolute grace. "Sabé," she says — or something close enough to it, but Sabé recongises her name any way Padmé chooses to say it — "Next time, it is _absolutely_ your turn to do the talking."

A different night Sabé might have reminded her that their height difference has made it impossible to play each other in official settings for years, might have reminded Padmé that the only place she got to give orders to Sabé these days was the bedroom.

But she thinks about that awful look of exhausted, bored despair in Padmé's eyes, and instead kneels so she can undo the last of Padmé's braids.

"It wasn't all bad," she offers, combing carefully through the long silky strands. Padmé groans in response, but Sabé knows that it's closer to one of relief — of finally being alone with Sabé, of the elaborate braids coming undone and the various heavy clips being placed aside — than one of true disagreement.

She tries not to dwell on the politics, though. They can never be left behind, not truly, but sometimes it is enough just to comb out Padmé's hair, to finally gather it all together in both hands and lift it over her shoulder and out of the way, to stroke her hands over Padmé's strong back and massage out all the tension she carries th —

— except Padmé's still wearing her corset, and with her hair out of the way Sabé's hands meet only shimmersilk and steel.

"Do you need help with your corset, at least?" Sabé asks. She can't quite blame Padmé for her eagerness to shed the reminders of the evening's gala, but part of her misses their nightly ritual of undressing together. She wants to give Padmé at least one thing tonight.

"No." Padmé's voice is no less emphatic for being muffled by the pillow. "'M keeping it. It's like a hug."

Sabé grins as she settles on the bed next to Padmé, idly running her fingertips up and down the light blue shimmersilk. "Time was that was my job."

Padmé rolls over and spreads her arms wide, mischief dancing in her tired brown eyes. "Well then. Come and claim it."

For a moment she looks young again, like they're back teasing each other in the palace on Naboo and Padmé's not trying to carry the weight of the entire Senate on her shoulders, and Sabé's heart seizes with affection, She'd do anything to keep Padmé smiling like that, anything always.

She leans down to kiss her first, a gentle question whether Padmé is up for anything more after the way the gala ended. But Padmé kisses her back enthusiastically, nips at her lips and reaches up to tug at her hair, and Sabé ends up falling on top of her anyway.

Padmé hums in satisfaction as she reaches up to twine her arms around Sabé's neck and deepen the kiss, seemingly unconcerned about the weight now resting on her corseted chest. Sabé tries to brace herself against the mattress enough to pull back slightly, but Padmé's arms tighten around her neck.

"Take my mind off things," she murmurs against Sabé's lips. "I don't want to have to think about ... everything." She works a hand into the infinitesimal space between their bodies, and for a moment Sabé is overwhelmed by the sensation of her bare skin, at the reminder that she herself is fully clothed.

"Like this," Padmé says breathlessly, grabbing Sabé's hand and guiding it to the front laces of her corset. "Like before."

And, _oh_ , Sabé's been away too long because there's a time when she would have known this from the moment Padmé collapsed still-bound to the bed. But she understands now. "Of course," she says, and sits up with one last, lingering kiss to Padmé's lips.

Padmé sighs happily as she smiles up at her, exhaustion already giving way to arousal in her eyes. But then her brow furrows.

"You're overdressed," Padmé complains, wriggling suggestively, but she doesn't let go of Sabé's hands to give her the chance to do anything about it. And this is hardly the first time she's found herself in this position.

"Am I?" Sabé lowers herself so she's straddling Padmé's legs, watches Padmé swallow hard as the beaded fabric of Sabé's skirt settles across her thighs. "I think you like me like this. Like knowing that I can protect you from anything that might come through that door."

Padmé's smile softens into something almost sad, and she reaches up to cup Sabé's cheek with one hand. "Oh, sweet Sabé. I'll know that no matter what you're wearing. And you know I'd do the same for you."

And Sabé has to lean down and kiss her again, at those words, because she can't bear the thought of Padmé being sad for a moment. Padmé kisses back almost absentmindedly, Her hands still urging Sabé's to the corset laces. "I know," she says gently. "But please — Sabé, please —"

So Sabé sits up and _pulls_ , ever so gently, watching as the edges of the corset dig into the softness of Padmé's stomach, as Padmé's eyes widen, pupils blown dark. "Okay?" she asks carefully.

Padmé nods frantically, hair tangling against the pillows as her chest. "Better than." Her voice is thin, her chest flushed a beautiful shade of pink where it swells over the top of the fabric, and Sabé thinks she might die if she doesn't get her mouth on her soon.

 _Later_ , she reminds herself, though she can't deny that the fact that Padmé trusts her enough to do _this_  is already bringing her dangerously close to the edge.

She released the laces with a flick of her wrist, and Padmé gasps, chest heaving as she takes deeper breaths. She looks _better_ , already, a little less like she has expense reports and committee schedules and stars know what else printed on the backs of her eyelids, but this, at least, Sabé still knows. "Again?"

"Yes," Padmé gasps. "But a little looser. And then leave it like that. I want your mouth, too."

She's lost none of the Amidala voice in the years since they've left Naboo, and Sabé can't resist a _yes, my Queen_ , in response as she carefully judges the laces. Loose enough that she can breathe, tight enough that screaming is an impossibility.

"There," Padmé finally says, and Sabé lets the laces fall, close enough to Padmé that she can grab them if she needs, but not in a position where they'll get pulled tighter on accident.

She leaves kisses on the exposed bits of Padmé's stomach as she squirms into position between her legs, wishing that the skirts of her own dress were a little less full. But all thought of that vanishes when she sees the wet patch on Padmé's underwear, the pale blue to match the corset darkened nearly to indigo.

Sabé licks her once through the fabric, giggles at Padmé's whine before maneuvering her enough to slide the underwear down her legs and drop them to the floor. Unlike the rest of Padmé's clothes from the gala, they can be dealt with later.

She can't hold back a moan when she finally gets her mouth on Padmé's cunt. Nothing had prepared her for how perfectly they fit together the first time they did this, the night Padmé formally ceded the throne. Nothing _ever_  prepares her for it, especially on nights like these, Padmé already flushed and practically dripping down her thighs simply from the vulnerability she's trusting Sabé with.

It's easy — it would be almost _too_  easy if Sabé didn't know that she could make Padmé come three times in a night, if she didn't know what Padmé looked like fucked beyond words, almost beyond breath, and still willing to let Sabé do whatever she wanted.

And Sabé _can_  do anything she wants, because all she wants is for Padmé to feel good, for Padmé to smile, for Padmé to keep making those soft, breathy moans, one hand at her throat and one buried in Sabé's hair. She can't see it, with her nose pressed to Padmé's clit and her tongue buried deep inside, but she can _imagine_ , and picture the exact expression on Padmé's face as her back arches and the reminder that she can't breathe that deeply closes around her chest.

It fills Sabé with an almost unbearable amount of pride to know that she can do this to her Senator, her Queen, her _friend_.

Padmé's thighs are trembling around Sabé's head as she licks and sucks, almost tight enough to muffle her gasps as Sabé works her closer and closer to her peak. She feels like she can't breathe either, drowning in Padmé's scent, her taste, the feel of her cunt velvet-smooth and better than the finest fabrics could ever hope to be.

"Sab —  _Sabé_ ," Padmé manages to gasp, and Sabé releases her clit and looks up in concern. But Padmé's smiling. "Wanted to see you," she murmurs, and Sabé's heart swells with love.

"I'm here," she promises, dragging a finger that's meant to be teasing through Padmé's folds, but that's all Padmé needs to come, a soft flood of warmth against Sabé's hand as her mouth falls open in a silent half-scream. Sabé presses kisses to her thighs as she shakes, her trapped hand unable to move much between Padmé's legs.

Padmé collapses back to the bed with a sigh, and Sabé reaches up to unlace the corset fully so she can catch her breath properly, but Padmé grabs her hand before she can. "Again?"

It's a question, but Sabé has never been one to deny her. "Again."


End file.
